This is a good example of why the internet is a valuable space. This woman, with no discovery channel funding or otherwise, has graced us with an eerie (shall we say photoessay here, tony
?) photo gallery of her motorcycle rides through the chernobyl area in Russia where atomic radiation still lays in the wake of the nuclear plant's melt down.
Who would have thought angelfire was a good thing?
I'm totally in the process. I'm in the process of acquiring some kickass hardware with which to kick your proverbial hypothetical mind-asses. I'm getting cameras and sound recorders and radar detectors and GPS coordinators so that I can harness the power of the silicoelectromagnetic universe... all so I can kick your ass. I'm waking up earlier every day, faster, more efficiently, and using less soap. I am a machine and will become one with the physical universe-of-man-made-things. I am working on a brain jack. A plug. A line. Soon, soon my friends, soon enough you will be able to ride the etherwaves through my very physical skull into the metaphysical universe of my mind - everyone's mind, because we're all - really - part of the same big soul-searching network.. which, when I am done with it, will not contain viruses or broken links or incorrect DNS entries. This network, fledgling and fleeting as it may seem to your simple eyes right now here at this point, it is and will be the greatest network in the universe. It will transcend every idea and concept ever had about networks. "Connections" will not exist, they will permeate as universal truths so much so that they are no longer individual or temporary things, they are simply part of the whole. The concept of addresses, or destinations will receed into the darkness as you, I, we, everyone will be everywhere with someone always with you. I'm in the process of making this so - building, in the backyard of my brain like a science project gone awry, the greatest thing ever to exist before or after or now in all it's infinite wisdom, insight, intelligence, knowledge, fun-havingness. This will be so, because I said it, and know it, and will one day somewhere - soon, probably yesterday, because time is a bendable address-connection for the network to manipulate - exist. It will exist. I will exist. You will exist. Other people, seemingly, will exist. This will happen but subtly, like the difference in the length of a car standing still versus the length of that same car speeding along at 120 miles per hour. So subtly that you won't notice it and one day you'll just realize it - much later than you'd have expected, mind-expectations being what they are - trivial and slow. You'll realize it and see that it always has been, or at least seemingly so when gandering from your particular angle with your particularly narrow view... but you'll realize it despite the view, even, and it will be so.
The first step to completing my network (remember I use this term lightly, as it has deep-seated conotations I wish to break) is the acquisition of a camera. A digital camera. This will be important later when I connect the corners to the middle and the sides to the top and the bottom to the middle so that all addresses, connections, spots individual are in fact one, the same, while remaining very very different. We need a record, a sense of the original painting so that we can appreciate - at least on some level - how exactly the same the new painting will be to the original, in all it's unrecognizable glory.
I'm serious here. No joking around.
Quick point. Quick Lecture.
Blogging from home, for me, is a special treat. Usually, I am at work. Since I sit in front of a computer screen all day I need breaks here and there from the minutia of programming land. In a typical day I might post 2, 3, even 6 posts from work.. all of varying length and girth and having various topics. It's just the way she flows.
The last thing I want to do when I get home from work is to trudge up my stairs, up into my room, and whip out the 'ol iBook so I can look at a damn computer screen some more. 9 hours is enough, trust me. But on the odd occasion that the thought strikes me it's nice to have the option. It's a treat because it's writing in a different environment. Away from the whir of many servers, away from co-workers, and away from the norm.
Some people always write from home. They're in school or don't have a computer at work or, *gasp*, don't disrespect their employer enough to waste company time. But it's not really about work or home. Writing is all about creativity
and if you don't stretch the boundaries of that creativity, what's the point?
Well, the point in this case is to try writing somewhere new. Try writing in class or on the bus or in the mountains on the trail. Try writing on the john hopper
or in a closet. If you're not testing your limits you're a bore. Or not.
Some people have found their grove, they know what works, and it involves sitting around your house in sweat pants. Some know that they crank best when they're high or strung out or drunk. I happen to know I'm a bore when I'm a drunk. Except for drunk dials. Which is why I don't write drunk.
The point is that you need to find your own groove, and that may mean shaking things up every once in awhile or trying new things or just sitting in the same spot for hours until you can't think straight. It's a choice to write well, interestingly, and often. It's a chore to do it
I was listening to This American Life
last night.. a repeat from 1/11/2002 in which Act Four is about a message a mother left for her son on his Columbia University college voicemail. He forwarded the message to a few friends for a good chuckle and they, in turn, also forwarded the message. It multiplied. It's a funny story, and worth a listen..
From WBEZ in Chicago, This American Life, Real Audio link here
. Note that the Real Audio link is the entire show so you'll have to listen all the way through. Sorry.
This is a perfect example of why drunk dialing is fun:
Email, from my friend Frost, in regards to the drunk voicemail I left him on Saturday morning at 4:30AM. I am proud that I was even still awake at that point:
The following is a transcript of a message sent to me by one michael batchelder at 4:30am, saturday morning, march 27th. it should be noted that mike does not remember this AT ALL. if any of you would like to listen to this, let me know. i just about pissed myself laughing at this:
"frost! you ficking suck, dude. you're lame. you're lame cuz you didn't answer your fucking voice mail and your name is fucking frost. that's lame. you're lame. you're so lame cuz you're like 'make sure that you fucking call me... eh, drunk-dial me fucking i'll listen' lame. you're lame. you're lame. yeah. you're lame. lame. tom went church shopping this weekend, and lisa made out with a 20-year old. she thought of you the whole time. the whole time she was making out with the 20-year-old, she was like 'man, this is sorta like making out with chris frost.' and, and she got a woody while she was doing it. she totally had a woody. and that was, and that was good for her. which is great, you know? it's good for her. good that--i'm, i'm really glad that she got a woody making out with some 20-year-old thinking of you. you know? isn't that sweet? it's sweet. sweet stuff. uh, i thought of you and i got a woody, but for totally different reasons. we could talk about that later. uh, give me a call regardless. pretty lame that you didn't answer your phone. okay. you're a loser. goodbye."
This weekend I set my new bestest trip time of 4 hours and 20 minutes from Montreal to Gardiner, ME. That's fucking fast, mind you. I normally figure on 5 hours. And coincidentally the time length was 4:20. Yes.
At dusk, in the New Hampshire mountains, coming around a sharp corner and careening off frost heaves like a rock skipping across the water my prelude almost ate a moose's rear hind-parts for lunch. Mr Moose, seeing Mr Prelude approaching at a pretty good clip of ~80mph, began to transition itself from a walking pace into a hurried gallop. Mr Prelude, having nothing against moose really, did his best to come to a screeching halt. Luckily for Mr Me, Mr Prelude, and Mr Moose, the attempt was successful and Mr Prelude stopped about 15 feet behind Mr Moose. Phew. Then two miles later a deer ran across in front of me missing Mr Prelude's front bumper by about 10 feet.
Needless to say the next hour or so was pretty adrenaline filled and tense.
But I rallied, continued to drive at an unsafe speed, and made a record trip of 4 hours and 20 minutes. yah me. i rock.
Wish I could have written more this weekend but I was "out of the office".. which is to say, I was out of the country experiencing the antics of toga keggers and french-canadian poutine. More on that later but know that you, my readers (and I say readers, plural, because I think the one person who reas this has a split personality), are terribly important to me and I do not mean to leave you hanging.
jaime's picture of libby
Some things in life should just be. Some things shouldn't need explaining or rejustification or reminding. Yet it is amazing how many people miss the point sometimes. So what I feel like a kindergarden teacher posting this? It's worth saying, generically, to all my friends, with no fingers pointed.
I just wanted to let you know that if any other friend of mine did this to me I would let them know out of respect for them and for myself so, in that vein, here it goes: Don't call me when you are in the middle of something and can only give half your attention. This includes driving in traffic, making dinner, and buying shoes at a store. Don't continually make plans to call, hang out with, or write someone if you aren't going to make the effort to do so. It's disrespectful. Don't put a pretty face on things just because it is easier - it makes someone feel like they're no more important than a stranger on the street - and the truth is more important. Don't inherit those traits you see as most false in others. Don't think that you'll hear from friends if they don't hear from you.
I think I'm talking about mutual respect here. I don't doubt for a second that you'd absolutely swear your respect for me up and down, and I don't doubt that you believe it to some extent.. but actions speak louder than words.
Your presence makes me smile. Your voice puts me at ease and makes me feel instantly better when I hear it. In many ways you've helped me grow more than you could ever know. Don't let me believe it's all just a pretty shell wrapped around an empty core. Please do not call me or write to me again if you do not intend on treating me like a friend. What this means to me is keeping in touch, calling just to catch up, returning phone calls within a few days if only to say "I've been busy, I'll catch up with you next week". It means telling the truth, not making excuses. It means making time, even when you are busy.
And It especially means only making promises you intend to keep.
I realize that my buzznet pictures are suffering because of my lack of a digital camera. I realize I'd be more interesting if I had pictures to post with my comments. I realize a lot of things and so, I realize that I don't really know what's a good camera and what's bad so maybe, just maybe, if I ask nicely and I make a post, like this, with links to all my favourite blogger photographers - like Jaime
from The Known Universe and Tony Pierce
from the Busblog - then they will post a comment here telling me what sort of camera they use or what sort of camera they'd like to have or whatever.
I could head out onto the innernector and grab me a shitload of information, relative comparisons, prices.. but unless I have some direction I'll go bonkers.
So I'd rather get some feedback from people who seem to know what they are doing. Like Kristin
I already talked to anti
about it - he rocks out with a sony mavica which I've used before (not his, but a mavica). They are these great big behemoths that use floppies for storage - floppies, remember those? But I loved it because the last thing I want to do is play some dumb memory-stick wars with my electronics companies. If you haven't been paying attention that's all they've been doing lately - coming up with new proprietary memory formats, making you pay through the nose for them even though they won't work with anything BUT your camera - not your camcorder, not your mp3 player, nothing - then after you paid through the nose they make them obsolete and you have to buy something else. And when you want to use the stick to actually transfer anything to your PC you need SOMETHING ELSE like a memory stick reader. It's all quite painful.. which is why I love the sony mavica.
Personally, though, just gimme a firewire jack out the back and I'd be happy. I'm not sure why anything has to be removable these days anyway. Message to manufacturer:
A) Implement Firewire Interface
B) Crampack the device with gads of RAM - it's cheap and you're just being dumb if you don't.
No kidding. Just give the goddamned kiddies what they want and they'll spend spend spend. No joke. Even me! And I'm a cheap bastard of the worst kind.
: yah dude, on tony's blog there is proof of my pimpness
: yah, i saw that man
: recognized it was you from your shirt
: really, the shirt?!
: that's hilarious to me for some reason
Oh, and for better or worse whether you like it or not, here comes Sargent Tony's Lonely Girls Club Band issue two:
L I C K M A G A Z I N E
Anti, aka i'm just a space monkey, in a tin foil hat
, aka BigBadanti, got comments back up and running. Fuck right to that.
He also recently linked
the California Fastrak website - "With FasTrak™...you drive non-stop through toll plazas in designated FasTrak™ lanes" it declares. The best part of it all, to me, though was the juxtaposition of the "Welcome to California" banner at the top of the page and the immediate opening sentences: "Day in and day out you play the waiting game on Bay Area bridges. And it can take its toll... on you, your wallet, and your car."
great! What have I been thinking?!
I don't ever get what I want. I mean, I get what I want in a more general sense, in a life-really-ain't-that-bad-can't-complain-I-guess sort of way. In a I-live-a-charmed-life sort of way. In a okay-shut-up-and-stop-talking-about-yourself-you-fucking-narccistic-bastard sort of way.. But when it comes to the real stuff - the day to day - I ain't gettin' shit. I get good looks and free baseball tickets and stuff like that: things that aren't planned or asked for. But let me tell you if I ask for something: 100% guaranteed I ain't getting it. No way jose.
I asked for a pony once. Didn't get it. Okay, I didn't ask for a pony. But I asked for a girl to go out with me once and that didn't work out. In a brief lapse of my logical atheism I asked God to do-this-one-thing-for-me-and-I'll-never-ask-you-again once. Didn't work out. I asked another girl if she could give me a promise - not a relationship promise like you might be thinking but a just-tell-me-it's-possible sort of promise.. and, with batted eye lashes she assured me that yes (she promised) it was possible and you know what?
I don't want to get all preachy here but.. guys, dolls.. do everyone a big fat favour and tell the goddamned motherfucking truth. Mmkay? Is that a lot to ask? I didn't think so.
The thing with the truth is it hurts.. Sure, we all know that. It can hurt pretty bad.. But what a lot of people don't know or realize is that the truth only hurts real bad when it's old. The older a truth is when you find it out, the harder it whips the llama's ass.
Take the lady for example. Coulda told me the truth straight up and it would have been like a slap on the wrist. Woulda been a bug bite I'd have to scratch for a few days but it would eventually heal up and go away. But she didn't. She stretched out the truth like a big gob of salt-water taffy and she wrapped it around her finger till it looked like the way she wanted it to; so it didn't make her feel bad about the shit she was throwing because she could pretend otherwise. Only problem is that by that point it was so stretched out and twisted it wasn't even the truth anymore.
Be careful how you portray the truth cause it's all perception baby. Put yourself in their shoes. Do they understand you?
As the truth gets old what it gets is hardened over and crusty and it doesn't taste nearly as good as the fresh kind. It gets musty and then dirty like an old man jerking off and no one wants to see that shit.. but the unfortunate fact here is that the truth eventually comes out no matter what and the longer you keep it inside trying to ignore it trying not to deal with it hoping it'll get easier later thinking maybe if I ignore it it'll go away the longer you avoid it - well, the harder it gets. The worse it's going to cut.
I'm a secret closet romantic so I like to pretend that people can make promises and keep them like they are something nobody can take away - like they transcend time and space and everything earthly as something near to God in their greatness. I like to think that someone's word, us all being a part of God as God is a part of us, is like the word of God and can therefore be trusted and taken to mean what it says. Would be nice to think that maybe you don't have to question it cause it is what it is: a promise. Given. Not taken.
I like to pretend that you can make a pact with someone to get married at age 40 if you haven't found anyone yet and I haven't found anyone yet and we'll just get married, cause why the hell not? You know, like you do with all your pals. I like to pretend that can be done, but seriously, and not in jest because when people say it - when they make that promise - they believe in it whole heartedly, I know they do I've made the promise. It's a joke when they do it - ha ha, it's funny to think we'd get married... .. nah, ha ha it would never happen - but it's also terribly real underneath like the band-aid on that fear that we'll end up alone someday. No one wants to die alone.. Course we all do die alone but the part that no one talks about is that great middle part - the mid-life, you know, when you have a crisis - no one talks about that as being important like life is just two parts - being born and dying with a whole lotta nothing inbetween. Lightbulb On - News Flash folks - life is about the middle part, the living part, that's the part to be truly scared of. It's the stuff in the sandwich that's the meat of it, not the bread-ends. That's what you should fear. We're all going to die, we're all dying slowly inside.. don't fear the reaper cause he be coming anyway so embrace him, ask him in, offer him a cup of tea.. But fear that middle part where you could be alone.. That's going to be the hard part.
I think anyway.
Which is why it would be nice to exchange truths with people. Real promises. Be able to get down to the heart of the matter and really communicate openly with nothing but truth truth true truth. You know? Cause really, everything else is
Just a lie.
Every time I see a hit from someone over in Asia sitemeter
provides a link to APNIC - the Arin.net for the pacific rim. Specifically, it says something like this:
- Pacific Rim)"
..and man, I can't help but chuckle on the inside every time I read "Pacific Rim". I'm a dirty fucker.
Which is to say Jaime got "outted", if that's what you wanna call it. His Mom and Dad found his blog. That's some funny shit.
Normally I wouldn't think it's so funny but if anyone can handle it well and not make too much of a big deal out of it, jaime is probably the one..
But it's interesting cause it makes me wonder what would (will?) happen if my parents ever found this site.. I've already talked about my employer finding out
about it and they didn't care but the 'rents.. that's another story all together. I mean, nothing would break - nothing would be fucked.. It would just be a little weird.
Sometimes I like it when the blog happens across people's screens who I know. Throws a spin on life and makes it interesting for a brief second.
Life these days is none too interesting, even for a brief second. It's same old same old and speaking of old I'm getting there. People complain about turning 30 or 40 but cripes if 26 isn't looming large and hairy in my headlights as I crank over in my grave here in 9-to-5 land. At some point you gotta get responsible and be "adult" and stop writing bad things on the innernector for millions of strangers to read
, right? What if I wanna be el-fucking-president some day? They'll be dragging this stuff up and putting it on CNN.com for everyone to see and they'll laugh laugh laugh they're asses off. Tony
will pick on me for being too conservative while apologizing for writing about politics on his blog. Then they'll all figure out that I'm a dual-citizen and therefore probably not elligible for the great super wonderful happy position of president and the citizens of this fine country will weep and then some dumbass like Bush will get elected and he'll invade some country cause the ambassador gave him a good-game slap on the ass last time they met and the citizens of this country, they'll all wipe their tears away because nothing makes 'em feel better than blowing some foreigners up.
No surprises there.
Excerpt from Pet Rodents
I'm convinced these guys aren't so much domesticated as trapped. Pet stores often put rabbits and guinea pigs together for petting, and while rabbits are generally pretty blasé about the whole deal, the guineas go into paroxysms of squealing and skittering if you so much as reach towards them. The guineas don't enjoy it, the kids don't enjoy it, and it's dumb. C-.
Don't ask me why I find that giggle-worthy funny. I just do. This book of ratings dude clearly has way too much time on his hands.
words words words thems be only words.
Sometimes I wish this shit be anonymous and shit cause, like, I wanna be able to write about how hard it is being me, smoking the crack I smoke, shootin the heroin I shoot, and snorting the coke I snort. Thing is the people who read this - they know me. They'd get all concerned or maybe not maybe they'd just get all playa-hatin' on me cause i'm a cool coke-bingin motherfucker and they're nothing. I don't blame 'em, I only blame me for not making this shit anony-fucking-mous so I could hammer out the _real_ details of my life that nobody knows about. At least nobody in the know.. only dirty skankwhores and low-lifes I find under the overpasses and in the wharehouses know me - the true me - and they don't know my name. That's the weirdest shit of it all, right? The people who fucking grok the shit with me and fucking boil the shit for me - I'm more anonymous to them than I am to you - my strangers here on the internet. Fucking right, life's some weird shit right?
I wish this shit was anonymous so I could gunge all over the screen and wipe it off then tell you about it and not worry that I'm sounding like a coked-out motherfucker when I write. Do you know how hard it is to write straight when you tripping on 'shrooms and some dumbass thought it was a good idea to give you some acid and then to calm your nerves you smoked a bowl and then to put it all into perspective you huffed some paint? It's hard motherfucking shit. Hard enough that it's like staring through a tunnel at the tiny pin-point of light on the other end trying to figure out if it's heaven or the headlight of an oncoming train - only to eventually find out it's your computer screen and you've been staring at it for about 45 minutes and it's actually 4-fucking-inches from your goddamn face. That's hard. Especially hard to make sense cause I don't even spellcheck this shit cause I'm a paranoid motherfucker cause this shit doesn't even think 'blog' is a word. BLOG
. Fucking blogger's spellcheck doesn't know blog? And I'm
the one on fucking crack here?
says: i asked her if she wanted to come over to the crib saturday night and she passed.
It's funny what different words mean to different people (re: crib). Crib.. well, we are all lucky enough to know what crib means these days - even my fucking grandmother - thanks to M-fucking-TV. In Da Hizzouse. Whatever.
Up here in Maine Crib means something completely different. Crib refers to the extra hand one gets every other round in the game of Cribbage. Sometimes the game itself is shortened to Crib, as in "Hey man, wanna play some Crib?" Cribbage is an old English game - been around since the 1600s - and is the de-facto camp game here in Maine. In fact, if states had official card games like they have official birds and seals and flowers and animals then cribbage would probably be the official card game of Vacationland.
In England, I am led to believe, it is the only game one can play for money in a Pub.
It's a curiosity in that it requires the use of a piece of wood with holes in it in which one can mark points (using markers referred to as "pegs). There are two parts to every round; 1) The playing of one's hand, in which the two players lay a card down one after the other. If someone leads with a 2 and you follow with a 2, you get "2 points for a pair" and immediately move your peg two - this manner of scoring points during the playing of one's hand is called "pegging". After play is finished one then "scores his hand". This involves finding points using the cards in your hand (making pairs, runs, and the like).
The first person to get 121 points wins. (most boards consist of two rows of 30 holes per player, and one must travel up and down the board twice to make the 120 points, and then one last point to "peg off the board". The 120th hole is often referred to as "the dead hole" because if you get there but cannot get out before your opponent, you are "dead")
The two most interesting aspects of Cribbage are as follows: 1) Six cards are dealt to each player at the beginning of a round. Both players choose two cards to throw in the "crib" (which goes to the dealer, the deal being alternated back and forth each round). The cards in the crib make up an extra hand that is not played during the pegging portion of the round but is counted for points during the counting portion of the round. 2) When counting points (or playing cards) one receives two points for adding cards up to fifteen. This arbitrary rule is pretty much the entire basis of the game. Face cards are worth 10. If, for example, you had 5 J K Q in your hand then you would have 9 points, counted as such: "Fifteen two, Fifteen four, Fifteen six" (accounting for the 5+J, 5+Q, and 5+K) "and a run of three for 9" (accounting for the J, Q, K run - one point for each card in the run).
Of course the one thing I have failed to mention is that after dealing and subsequently throwing one's extra cards to the crib the non-dealer must cut the deck and the dealer will flip over the top card. This card is not used during play but is included in both players hands when they count. Thus a real hand has 5 cards, not 4.
The counting aloud to one's opponent allows for some witty comments to be thrown in for fun: 5 K J 2 4, for example, could be "Fifteen two, Fifteen four, and there ain't no more".
Thing with crib is, I think it was actually used to refer to a baby's bed once.. as in a bed with high fencing around it to keep a baby from falling out or wandering the house at night. I think so, anyway.
I clicked into this blogger post with absolutely no idea what I was going to write about but I'm so goddamn fucking amazing that I will, no doubt, turn this post into a mind-altering drug-like mega-monologue of the nth-degree.
I had the weirdest dreams the other night. I know I know, nothing worse than some schlep writing about their dreams on a blog.. except maybe having to listen to the schlep relay their dream in conversation, but bare with me here.. it's for a good cause. One dream I remember involved a certain someone and she was extremely good to me in the nicest ways which is odd because she never is in real life. Another dream I remember involved three young college girls - most certainly undergraduates. They also, were quite nice though I don't believe I've ever seen them before.
Now you think I'm being dirty..
But I'm not.
They were just really nice. Granted they were wearing skimpy clothing and what not but what truly put a smile to my face was their attitude. Personality. They were just nice. Friendly. Talkative. Animated.
I guess what I'm saying is somehow that stands out: being friendly. In this day and age everyone is just so.. bummed out. Or tired. Overworked. Whatever. They have a different excuse every day but does that justify it? No. Not one bit.
We're all on this big ship together so you might as well get used to it. No, you don't have to like everyone or bring everyone on your block cookies during the holidays.. I'm just asking for a smile on the bus or a nod in the grocery line or a how-do-yah-do in the morning when I'm walking out to my car and your dog is busy shitting on my lawn. Is that too much to ask?
Some people like to say that I'm not too friendly. Sort of ornery, even. But they're wrong. I'm just shy. Comes across in different ways to different folks and sometimes it comes across as grumpy, even. It's too bad cause they're just not looking very hard.
Am I not looking very hard?
Are you all friendly out there?
Am I missing the point?
I dunno. Get out there today and say hi to someone. Ask them about the book they are reading or why they're frowning or if they need any help with that big box they are carrying.
Walking downtown the other day, eating my sandwich, minding my own business, I crossed paths with a woman cleaning the snow off her car. I stopped and helped her clear off the passenger side. Didn't say anything cause it's not my style. I told you I was shy. I just swiped my arm in big angel-making swaths across the windshield for a few seconds. It really took me all of a few seconds. Wasn't necessary to do it but what the fuck? I wasn't in a rush. She thanked me and drove off but a minute later she came driving back from the direction she had gone. She pulled up and said "Hey, uh.. do you need a ride anywhere? I'm heading that way". She jerked her thumb towards downtown and looked at me inquisitively. It seemed clear that she had had an epiphany just then that had caused her to turn around and ask me if I wanted a ride. Call it the good-samaritan epiphany or the help-one-help-another epiphany. Whatever. It worked though and I got a ride and she got a clean windshield. It's just too bad it took the one to get the other. It shouldn't be about that.
If all of life was give only to take it wouldn't last too long before the whole system crumbled right down to nothing. It takes a little risk to get reward - that's the beauty inherent in the system - and without it we'd be missing something infinitely important - something essential in making us human - creatures of this earth.
Still, though, it's a bummer I didn't get any in my dreams.. It's a constant plight of mine. One that I've been forced to think upon for a long time and I can only come to two conclusions: 1) I never get sex in my dreams because I'm sexually satisfied in my real life, or 2) I never get any in my dreams because I'm terribly frustrated sexually in my real life. Both options seem just as likely.
Still, though, it's a bummer.
I've gone and done a mild-redesign.. There is nothing I abhor more than a bad desing and I realized a long time ago how assy the old one was but I've been too lazy to do much of anything about it.
iTunes doesn't tell you what's playing if you mouse-over it's taskbar holder in Windows. That's assy design.
Window's tab controls re-arrange their order based on which one you've selected. That's assy design.
So I redesigned this site a little bit.. tried to make it a little easier on the eyes and also improved it's loading time. Hopefully. Certainly feel free to bitch about it in the comments.
I just didn't want to forget.
Is that a figure of speech? So much work for so little reward. On second thought, I hate you. All of you motherfuckers. Remember, last time, when I said I needed to tell you just that once? Well that was before my teeth felt like they had braille on them. YOU! YOU!!!!!! I hate you motherfuckers!
Why do I you so? I used to hate Batch . . . I used to tell him to fuck himself. The ninja site has some serious improvements. A hate letter that tells (poor) robert to bend over and bite his own dick off to make sure that no one is ever fertilized by his seed. I have listened to nothing but the Beta Band for the last . . . 17 hours. Just two albums. Exactly what I needed to kick the Ween though. Or at least postpone my excitement until I get the albums I need.
That yelling before was totally worthless. I could explain to them how if they were here, I would stick my fingers into their ears and press uncomfortably on their eye sockets with my palms. Not enough to poke . . . just enough to feel bad. And I would punch their head down, so that it would hurt their spine. And I would urinate on their clothing. And rub my asshole on their cheek. In fact, I would just sit on their head, bouncing ever so slightly, restless with anticipation of the moment I could excrete my bounty on them. Truly nothing worse than excrement on your head. In your hair. YOU HEAR THAT MOHTERFUCKERS???? THAT"S WHAT I WOULD FUCKING DO!!!
Someone will report me, I know. Some student or something. Well, I hate you almost the most. I will get kicked out, and I won't even give you the satisfaction of hating you the most. You gotta be careful with these motherfuckers, you know? They'll do that . . . Get you kicked out just so that they'll be special in some way. Oh no. Not this time.
Doing drugs, shmokin weed, shmoking weed, rollin blunts. My throat feels realy bad now. It's a good thing I'm getting such regular sleep so that I don't get sick . . .
Whatevs. Not that tired, but paper isn't that hot. It'll be five pages. That's laughable. HA! My teeth are fucking GRIMY. It's so nasty. I talked to my friend Yizhou from high school last night. It was really nice; she and I really like each other.
I feel horrible. Too many chocolate chips. Too much protien drink. Blehhhhh.
coherence loss, and due in seven hours. looks like I will be using all available time.
must go for walk.
Dude. My paper is gonna ROCK! I fucking wrote this in . . . oh. shit. it's been an hour and fifteen minutes. I no longer feel the surge of pride and self-adulation. alas. here it is, anyway. It's gonna be really good, if I can stay awake.
Theory of Mind in Right Hemisphere Damaged (RHD) individuals: implications from performance on the ?false belief task.?
Theory of Mind (TOM) is the ability to reason about others? and one?s own mental states (Simon Baron Cohen et al, 1985). The false belief task has been used to test for competency in TOM for over 20 years. Several papers have identified problems with this method (German & Bloom, 2000; Siegal, 1991), yet it continues to be widely used. The purpose of the current paper is to point out the danger of inferring TOM deficit from failure, and to point out one serious misinterpretation of success on this task.
TOM was a term coined by Premack and Woodruff in a study on mentalizing in chimpanzees (Premack & Woodruff, 1978). It refers to the ability to reason about mental states, or propositional attitudes. The most commonly agreed upon mental states are Belief, Desire, and Pretense. It has been proposed that a deficit in TOM can account for the set of symptoms in autism. It has also been proposed that RHD individuals may constitute a population that displays an ?aquired TOM deficit? (Happe, 1999). In recent review article, Martin and McDonald (2003) present several possible models, one of which is TOM deficit, to account for the symptoms found in RHD. First I will review these symptoms, which can best be described as pragmatic deficits. Then I will review the evidence supporting the link between RHD and autism, as based in TOM deficit. I will specifically focus on evidence stemming from the false belief task, and point out research (Siegal, 1996; Surian & Siegal 2001) that shows that the arguments supporting this link are flawed. Next I will examine Seigal et al's research (on the false belief task), and show how the results have been misinterpreted. I will argue that, contrary to Seigal et. al.'s interpretation of their results implicating a "pragmatic language deficit," the results point to problems in executive fuctioning.
Oh shit. Forgot to post this. It's going GREAT! Have two pages already! What now. Sing it Beta Band.
Dude. I'm so fucked! hee hee. Though I finally have a coherent outline for my paper. Which is due now in about 10 hours. If I can make it that long. And then there always the factor of sending it in at 7 in the morning. He of course knows that I did it at the last minute.
Unstellar drinking today. I had a sip of Crista's beer when I got home to help Jessica install a fishtank that I didn't have time to be fucking with but did anyway since I had told her that if it was an emergency she could call and since she did call she was obviously implying that it was an emergency even though I fucking knew very g-damn well that it was not, but if I had refused then I would have just been a bad friend. And then leaving, Daniel was waiting for a ride from Eric, though I can't for the life of me figure out why Eric offered to drive him, since it is literally spitting distance and would take easily three times longer to drive than to walk, and being that I was going that way anyway I told Eric who I passed on the way to the car where Daniel was waiting for him that I would walk with Daniel because apparently Daniel just didn't know how to get home from there, and upon arriving to Daniel and the car I explained the situation and that I would walk him, but he said that no, that he was waiting for Eric, not understanding that I had told Eric not to come. And upon explaining this fact again, he again refused, perhaps not believing me that it was literally (and I mean not quite here, but close) spitting distance, or something, and told me I was an asshole. What a fuck up. He's a nice guy and all, but that's bush league psych out shit. I await his apology call now where I will tell him that he can apologize later because I don't have time to talk as I'm finishing my paper. Speaking of which.
The effort today - on St. Patty's day, no less - has been less than stellar. As my old tennis coach would say: "That was a lackluster performance, boys"
I will attempt to rectify.
I watched Easy Rider for the first time last night. I quite enjoyed it. Really just fucking amazing, in fact. The thing that pains me the most about these classic films is that there are still so many I have yet to see. Sad, really, that I only checked Casablanca off my list just last year. Pathetic even.
There are a number of scenes in the film where Hopper and Fonda (Billy and Wyatt) are heading down the road on their bikes and the music is just playing and the scenery is amazing amazing shit. In one, The Band's "The Weight" is playing.. and they're just riding, baby.. riding.
It's movies like this that make me realize how much our world has changed in a few short decades. Hippy means something totally different now. Equality holds different weight. As fucked up as the world maybe was then it seems a whole lot more complex now. For better or worse?
The one thing I can say - and maybe this is overly niave - is that if two dirty and road-weary dudes rode up to a small motel in this day and age no one would deny them a room on looks alone. I don't know if that is because everything is corporate now and there is less discrimination because some dumb clerk doesn't care if it's not his store, or what.. but I do think it's true. I think that makes this country better than it was 40 years ago. There are plenty of things I would argue makes this country worse off now but at least this one thing, I think it makes us better on that point at least.
I also watched the complete works of tenacious d or whatever on DVD.. did you know they had a show of some sort on HBO? Yah, man.. yah. Check it out. Funny fucking shit. Those two dudes are so funny it hurts just to think about it.
Also, I heard Brian Greene on NPR's Fresh Aire last night.. Really interesting shit. Give it a listen if you have the chance:
Fresh Aire with Brian Greene
He is the physicist from Columbia University who wrote 'The Elegant Universe' (all about super string theory) and just came out with a new book that immediately went best-seller also. If you've never dipped into string theory at all now is the time. It'll bend your brain like a iron rod at a strongman competition.
One last thing, on this St. Patty's Day. I've been meaning to point out how much drinking makes sense for the Irish Catholics. It's like sin with auto-repentance and suffering built right in. You don't even have to get up for church the next day - the hangover makes you feel bad enough.
Okay. That's all for today. I have to go home and drink now.
this is all the rage
First job: Bailing Hay - $3 for one day. But my first Real one with a W-2 was as a proofer at a bank at age 15.
First screen name: Leahcim
First self purchased CD: Pink Floyd the Wall
First true love: I'm not sure I've had one yet.
First enemy: Too many since to think back through 'em all.
Last big car ride: Big? What's big? This last weekend ~2 hours up the coast doesn't count in my book.. So I'd have to go with my Virginia hiking trip on the border of Tennessee.
Last kiss: r e m y
Last library book checked out: Purchased The Elegant Universe.. close enough
Last movie seen: Easy Rider
Last beverage drank: Coffee
Last food consumed: Mac & Cheese and Green Peas
Last phone call: work related, blah
CD played: The Moog Cookbook
Last annoyance: All of life's little inconsistencies
Last pop drank: Barq's - it has bite
Last ice cream eaten: Klondike bar
Last time scolded: Monday by The Man
Last shirt worn: 2003 Wisconsin Brat Festival T-Shirt
I AM: not perfect
I WANT: for nothing
I HAVE: a charmed life
I WISH: I was a baller
I HATE: equality for equality's sake and blind inequality
I FEAR: no one
I HEAR: rumors and lies
I SEARCH: for love
I WONDER: if I'll find it
I REGRET: not doing better in college
I LOVE: titties and beer
I ALWAYS: fart
I AM NOT: your average middle class white male
I DANCE: more than you think
I SING: when no one is around and I can't hear my own voice over the music
HAVE A CRUSH: certainly
WANT TO GET MARRIED: yes
GET MOTION SICKNESS: yes, especially from video games
THINK YOURE A HEALTH FREAK: no
CURRENT HAIR COLOR: blondish-brown
EYE COLOR: bloodshot
BIRTHPLACE: dover-foxcroft, me
COLOR: pink & brown
DAY: July 4th
SONG(S): daysleeper, crazy love, tupelo honey, speedy marie, debaser, midnight special, the good life, change, the payback, crazy game of poker, feelin alright, country grammar, in my life, don't think twice it's alright, tuesday's gone, gloria, graceland, momma said knock you out, if I wasn't shy, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc
SEASON: indian summer
CUDDLE OR MAKE OUT: cuddle
CHOCOLATE MILK, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: chocolate milk
MILK, DARK OR WHITE CHOCOLATE: dark
VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE: vanilla
IN THE LAST 24 HRS, HAVE YOU...
HELPED SOMEONE? yes
BOUGHT SOMETHING? no
GOTTEN SICK? no
GONE TO THE MOVIES? no
SAID 'i love you'?: no
WRITTEN A REAL LETTER: no
TALKED TO AN EX?: no
MISSED AN EX?: no
HAD A SERIOUS TALK?: no
MISSED SOMEONE? yes
HUGGED SOMEONE? no
MADE A GIRL MOAN? nope
I don't know whether this Ween addiction will last, but I almost can't listen to anything else right now. I need the earlier albums real bad. Aparently 'The Pod' was recorded while they were inhaling scotchguard. Bleh. My interest in drugs interests me. I guess it's addictions that interests me . . . hearing the story of meth addiction last weekend, I couldn't help but be a little interested. I found myself looking up cloroform the other day for absolutely no reason. I just wanted to know what it was and read a description of its effects. I have had no luck finding a site about scotchguard users. I imagine most of them are either too young to post to sites, or highly unmotivated. Or too fried.
Some of the people that know me.. heck, a lot of people who know me - and know me very well - don't realize the level of depression that I am sometimes capable of. The funniest part is that it is never particularly warranted. You see I've lived a pretty charmed life. Very charmed. If they made a TV show about my life they'd have to buy that stupid Spelling's production of the same name just to cancel it and destroy all reference and knowledge of it's existence in order to name MY show Charmed.
Because I'm charmed.
I've lived up on a bluff overlooking the ocean now for over two years. In fact I'm going on three. The parking signs out front say "City Services - No Parking Tuesdays 8 AM - 12 NOON". This is the city's way of saying:
Sometimes we sweep the streets and we can do a better job if there are no cars parked on the street at the time but if their are cars parked on the street we will just sweep around them, no problem. If, on the other hand, we don't happen to be sweeping on a particular tuesday but we feel like being complete jackholes we will send a metermaid up to your location and have them ticket your vehicle just for fun. Really, for fun. We actually chuckle to ourselves down at city hall when we send people out to do this because it's so unnecessarily evil and pretty hilarious. If the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day and there is no reason to be anything but carefree and happy we will not only ticket your vehicle but we will do it at 8:01AM and then immediately tow your vehicle at 8:02AM. This way, when you wake up to go to work you find your vehicle missing, call city services to find out where it was towed (we will have trouble finding it and try to tell you more than once that no vehicle of your description has been towed), drag a friend or neighbour out of bed to drive you there (undoubtably it will be a tow lot as far away from you as possible, despite the fact there is one a short walk down the street from you), pay the $65 to get your car back - all to find that when you actually get to your vehicle there is a parking ticket on it for $25. We laugh particularly hard about that last part.
Somehow, despite this, I have been lucky enough to never ever get towed by the city. It's not because I always move my car in time, either. The first summer I lived up on the promenade I would forget to move my car all the time. It was more often than not a matter of being lazy and not wanting to drag ass out of bed at 8am. I would stumble out my front door at 8:45 or 9:15 or even 10 sometimes and always, there looking at me, was my car - unticketed and untowed. After my roommate got towed and ticketed a few times I got better. I'd park in the driveway on Monday nights or go around to the side street. If I did park on the prom I would skuttle down the back stairs in my boxers and Tevas and move the car by 8:15 or so, then head back to bed. In the winter I just avoid it all together by parking in the driveway that I share with the tenants in my building - it's first come first serve but I've been lucky.. charmed even.
Until today. My mind slipped like a bad clutch and I didn't even realize what day it was as I pulled up to the front of my building last night. I was busy thinking up a storm (no doubt my mind smelling like a burnt clutch) and raced into my house to change for my run. It didn't occur to me that today was Tuesday until this morning at 10AM. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, tied my shoes, and as I walked down the stairs to the front door it hit me - WHAM. "Oh crap," I thought, "It's Tuesday!" At the time I thought this I could see the front of my car through the front door so it wasn't a real "OH CRAP" it was more of an "oh crap
". I fully expected a ticket fluttering in the wind on my windshield but when I got out to the car it was bare. No ticket. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Nothing.
Like I said, I live a charmed life. Some might scoff at this - "what's parking tickets got to do with anything?" they'd say. Well, it's got everything to do with everything. A parking ticket would be a major affront to me. My life is so charmed that my biggest worries are parking tickets and making sure I get diet soda at the bar when I ask for diet soda. No kidding.
I lead a charmed life. No one in my direct family has ever died, been maimed, or contracted a serious disease - no cousins or uncles or aunts or sisters or friends. I have never gotten in a serious accident, been caught rhyming or stealing, or even had a problem wetting my bed as a child. My largest physical flaws are flat feet and small hands. I'm intelligent enough that high school was a joke and college was a easy enough that I was drunk all the time. My parents were never overbearing, divorced, hateful, or alcoholics.
I lead such a charmed life that amazing deals such as $8/month gym membership, free cable tv, and free wireless broadband from my neighbour just fall into my lap. I got dual-citizenship through a loophole with my mother that resulted in a ~75% drop in my college tuition. I just saved $500 on my car and motorcycle insurance and I didn't even switch to Geico.
One of the reasons I'm so charmed is that I was born in the United States of America and people forget that sometimes. People forget how lucky the are to be - as Ben Folds says - male middle-class and white. Maybe you're not male and maybe you're not white and maybe, even, you're not middle class but you know what - if you live in America you are pretty much the middle-class white male of the world - symbolically speaking. And I don't want to hear any bullshit about the poverty line either because I have friends working the poverty line like they were on strike against work and they're doing just fine.
All this charm is probably why no one believes that I could ever be depressed. God forbid. But I can be. Just like anyone else. Just like every other charmed motherfucker in this country - and even Canada too, and Britain and France and Germany.. lotta charmed motherfuckers out there and damn if a whole bunch of them aren't a bit depressed too.
My freshman year of college was a charmed one, to be sure. I met some amazing friends right off the bat and had some old friends too and I learned what real
drinking was and how school work - no matter how amazingly difficult it looked - could always be done later, after the beer and the hangover and the trip to the chinese take-out. Regardless, though, I hit a funk mid-way through. Daylight savings had kicked in and it was early December. Finals were fast approaching for the first semester and I just didn't want to do a damn thing. I'm not sure what it was, exactly.. not homesickness or lack of motivation or anything like that.. I was just sort of bummed out. For two straight weeks - and I'm not kidding here, Alex can confirm - I remained in bed till ~5:30PM when everyone would congregate in my room to head for dinner in the cafeteria. Considering I was hitting the sack around 4 or 5AM that means I was regularly recording over 12 hours of sleep. It also meant I wasn't seeing a single ray of sunlight. It also meant I was skipping every class. It also meant I was awake in time to a) eat, b) shower, c) go out drinking... which meant I wasn't studying much for finals.
I pulled out of the nose dive somehow, recorded some decently acceptable grades for the transcript, and stopped sleeping through sunlight. Christmas break helped to break up the monotony I was feeling and the new semester brought new classes, new lecture halls and buildings, and a new light to it all.
I never did quite figure it out but it's been with me ever since. The darkness of wintertime in the Northeast - less than 9 hours of sunlight - has been a serious factor for me ever since that Freshman year of college. It just makes me SAD. Unfortunately it also kills my motivation to post here, which is a shame. Sometimes I'll head home from work and hit the street with my sneakers and iPod and run down to the ocean listening to some Creedance or Frank Black or Weezer and a million thoughts will run through my head. I'll compose amazing posts. I'll confront many a demon and foe. I'll construct witty responses to tired old arguements. I'll discover the perfect sequence of words and sentences to say to the girl in order to make her see the light and come about and realize her fate and accept her love.
And then when I get home it's all gone.
I flip open the iBook and stare at the screen. I check my email and read blogs and listen to mp3s and read books and cook food and shower and take a multi-vitamin and watch tv and brush my teeth and take off my shoes and clean my dishes and talk on the phone and go down to the bar for a beer and go for a run and sleep and sleep and get up to turn off my alarm and go to work and put on my clothes and sit and work and drink coffee and take a shower and work and sleep and turn off the alarm and go running...
and all those posts in my head, they're gone.
Luckily Spring-Ahead is just around the corner which will shift sunset forward an hour and we'll be looking at over 10 hours of light soon enough. Luckily I have the willpower of a giant willpower machine. Luckily spring gives way to summer which gives way to large life decisions and realizations and new places, people, things, and cats.
I can't wait.
That's right, BEEATCH. Done. 32 pages less references. A clean 40 with. Fuck all y'alls. I like those girls, dude. They're nice. They come play disc with me. My game is on again.
Did I mention singing the song "just what I needed" during my best day kitesurfing ever? That's what kitesurfing does. It ensures that I will love songs for ever. Ziggy stardust is the best example, but now there are countless. You know who I hate? I hate all you fuckers that I don't know that read this. Is that ok? Just for right now, may I concentrate my rage upon you like a laser beam? Fuck all y'alls. Just know that right now I am hating you and cursing your names and your genealogies. I don't really want to . . . I don't like that I should be hating anyone. But you motherfuckers are the safest target I have, and obviously I have a need. Thanks for your cooperation.
Nobody fucking goes to the beach. It's all a big fucking joke. I was so amused last weekend when my cousin came down to visit; we were playing frisbee on the beach, about a mile down from a university organized yoga class (or rather some bizarre yoga alternative with giant dums [sic]). It was a GLORIOUS day. IV beach is probably about two miles, and one can see most of it from just about anywhere, and there's NO ONE else out. Not a soul but us and the freaky drum playing class, that are out for credit. I comment on this several times, and explain to him how fucked it is that nobody comes to the beach here. I don't know whether it's overexposure, or what . . . but it's crazy. So finally, a few guys come walking down the beach, and I soften my viewpoint a bit. Until they ask, "Ummm . . . we're from the east coast; do you guys know where the college kids go to hang out on the beach?" And I laugh and laugh and laugh. Ah, the times we had.
Fuck. I can feel my tonsils swelling, and my cousin apparently has tonsillitis. Coincidence? My sore throat popped up in my dream in the funniest way, but I think I won't post it for modesty. People actually read this shit now. Damn.
The worst part about blogging is post titles. Pretty much every one of them might just as well be Fuck
. A once crude word that has become, for my generation, a catch-all for excitment, boredom, shock, chagrin - whathaveyou.
If friends are sick and tired of hearing my complaints then I myself have got to be doubly so. I'm sick and tired of the running dialogue in my own head re: the girl. I'm done with it, why can't my head be?
I like to live my life on the No Regrets
mantra but lately I've been doing some things that I, even in my most accepting of moods, find somewhat reprehensible. Not bad things, just pathetic things. Whiny things. And I know that a gift gained through perscribed pity is no gift at all - is, in fact, a curse.. but like a heroin addict I am drawn to the drug during my darkest hours.
The last time I test drove a car - a Mini Cooper S - my salesman was named Xxxxxxxxxx Xxxxx
. I guess he was nice enough but I wanted to punch him in the face for having such a name. Sounds like the sort of guy who works in MI6 and spies for the Russians.
I drank more beer Saturday then I have in one day for a very long time. Microbrew, too, so I stank like a motherfucker the next day.
Oops. Today, too, apparently.
Had to physically remove myself from the diner on three seperate occasions on Sunday in order to spare all the other patrons (mostly old folks) from my flowery ass bouqet.
Caught the twin towers on Mickey Blue Eyes last night when I was flipping through the channels. Car was crossing into Manhattan and there they were in all their glory and I was momentarily pissed off that it had to be such a big deal that they were even there, in the movie, and that I noticed. So I passed up sex.
World is one assfucked place so it's a damn good thing anal sex is so goddamn funny, right Alex?
It snowed again last night. Was maybe 50 this weekend and then it snowed. Going to be maybe 50 today and maybe going to snow tomorrow. I don't know how Tony
can figure on Isla Vista
being the most beautiful place on earth when there are so many vacous people there sort of filling the space with styrofoam and plastic. I think he might actually like it that people carry surfboards on their escalades as if that were okay. I dunno, maybe I'm just a more angry boy than him. Probably.
Sometimes when something is too easy it doesn't mean as much.
'Round these parts people "roll" in their 1984 Volvo 240 with 252,000 miles, rust, and birks and they're surfing on plywood.. on 10 inch waves.. in 40 degree water.
And it occurred to me this morning as I was driving to work in the beautiful sun that it's all pretty easy. Sorta renders my previous statement null and void. Least I got it for a second.
Why is it every person who buys a new car thinks they got a deal on it?
You see? My dream has come true. It's 3 on the Sunday after my paper was due, and now I really do hate myself. And I'm getting work done!
Just for fun . . . I'll post part of the letter I wrote to my little bro. Hope he doesn't mind. He was feeling really shitty about authority, being lazy and school. Negative and all. So I wrote to help him out.
Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come to probe your anus? That would make a much better intro to that show. Right.
The lazy boat dude. Don'tcha worry none, dude. You gotta see a movie like The Hudsucker Proxy, or The Princess Bride . . . That'll help you out. Or read some kid's books. The kind of shit that's really optimistic. Because you'll look back at now, years to come, and laugh really hard. Wow! I thought I was stressed out then! Ha. Now I'm putting down $30,000 on my first business venture. A sausage company. Good thing I like sausages! I'll eat sausages every day now. And I'll give them to my cats. Man, I remember when I was in high school I didn't even have any cats! And now I have four hundred and seventy thousand. That's right. And I live on a space station. I breed cats for space station 45V229. Those guys sure love cat meat, especially when it's sausage fed! Mmmmm mmmm, good! Nothing beats cat meat, except for these sausages. Man, I can't believe I actually lived on earth once! And I never knew how great Ween was. They rock. They're so good, I would strip naked and dance around the stage when they were playing, just to show my dedication. And my penis to all of my adoring fans! Mmmmm mmm, good! Do a little pee pee dance. Shake it to the left! Shake it to the right! Make it look floppy! Keep it out of sight!
Is this funny or was I just high? Oh, oh! I know . . . The answer . . . YES!
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Unless you judge sodomy as bad. Why is anal sex so damn funny? I can think of few contexts in which it's not. Maybe it's the poo factor. It's comedy derived from its relation to poo. If only the residoo.
See what I did there?
BTW I appreciate your comments about being out in nature. I couldn't agree with you more. I can just imagine canoeing with one of those onstar systems. "After the inlet, turn right."
Some arseburger commented
today on various military robotics projects - you know, a lot of aliens and universal soldier type shit.. He's right, they are making amazing progress. He missed a link to Hong Kong's Robotcop III
, though, a sweet thang that purports to teach kids how to fight crime (what?). A little too close to Robocop
for comfort, if you ask me.. but maybe no one over in the 'Kong has seen Robocop? I dunno. I'm just thinking the whole thing is pretty sketch.
I'm all for technology.. really, I am. I work with computers. Technology is quite literally my livelyhood, so why would I want to see it go? It doesn't mean we should apply it to every single thing we know, though.
Like GPSs.. what the hell? Some things should be left natural - and getting lost and starving to death in the woods is one of them. How can you learn from your mistakes when everytime you make a mistake you just press a little button and get beamed back to your last checkpoint? It's like life is becoming a bad video game. You don't die.. you just restart the level. I got one word for that: Lamo.
If I don't have a very real chance of dying in the woods.. well then why the hell am I going in the woods at all? How visceral is camping if you're communicating with cellphones and spending your whole time hiking staring down at a 2 inch by 2 inch LCD screen with a map on it? How are you ever going to learn anything?
Fuck all this brainwashing. You need less reliability, crap ass efficiency, and extreme cost. Nothing teaches you how to problem solve better than necessity (it is, afterall, the mother of all invention).. and being between a rock and a hard place spells N E C E S S I T Y like nobody's bidness.
Speaking of necessity, I believe I have a very real necessity to upgrade my motorcyle. It's an extra vehicle that I don't need, it's purely recreational, it's a waste of money.. you really can't get much closer to the basics of necessity than that. Anyhow, Performance carbs, I'm thinking. 41mm Keihin Flatsides that'll give the 'ol Ducati a kick in the pants and improve overall driveability. Used I can probably do it for $600. MmmMMmmm nothing like squandering cash on toys.
Wait. Same difference.
The girl, somehow, is like a boweevil in my brain. Boring away at my skull. You know those old fallen trees you find in the woods (you know, when you're not looking at your GPS) that have, when you peel the bark off, small squirrely little "rivulets" running around on the surface? That's pretty the result of bugs eating away at the fibers.. making little tracks between bark and tree.. that's what this girl is doing to my brain. The worst part is knowing she has no idea as to the severity of her effect on me.
I know neither of the two people who read this site cares a lick about keihin flatside carbs but bare with me here. The other day I was hanging out with a friend and who was talking about his current "project" of trying to enjoy watching Nascar.
"I just don't get it. I've been putting the races on the TV on Sunday's just to see what's up and nothing exciting happens. But I'm convinced I'm missing something because so
many people like Nascar.. must be something to it"
This struck me as funny because I started thinking about everything I know about Nascar. I don't know a whole lot and it's not a sport I follow but I have a decent amount of information floating around in my head. Driver names. Rules. etc. It struck me that I have a really good range of information, in general, in my head. Jack of all trades, master of none sort of thing. I guess my point is that if I was reading someone's blog - say some socialite who normally talks about who the puked on at the bar the previous night - and I just happened on a discussion about flatside carbs and I didn't know what the hell they were - I would probably read the discussion and try to learn a little. You never know when it might come in handy.
That being said, consider yourself forewarned that technical mumbo-jumbo follows:
The motorcycle I ride is a 1998 Ducati 900CR. It's a 2-Valved 2-Cylinder - called an L-Twin because of the shape the two cylinders make. They are at a 90degree angle to eachother. You can see pretty animations of various twins here
. The 900 denotes it's engine size - 904cc or .9 litres. For reference that is half the displacment of VW's 1.8L turbo that goes in their passats and golf cars..
Anyhow, these engines need gas. Gas can be delivered in two ways - the old way (carburetors) or the new way (fuel injection).
Electronic Fuel injection is controlled digitally by a computer chip based on various information at any given time - such as current RPMs.. all cars in the U.S. now have Fuel Injection - in fact, the last car to have a carb was the Subaru Justy in 1989 or 1990. FI gives far greater control over fuel flow and thus improves emmissions, fuel efficiency, and performance.
Carbs essentially control the flow and delivery of gas to the combustion chamber mechanically, using different sized needles that allow different amounts of gas out depending on the position of the throttle pistons. In general a carb has to account for 4 or 5 situations: Idle, where just enough fuel is delivered to the engine to maintain a low idle and not stall the engine. Normal operation, where just enough fuel is delivered for "cruising" (not accelerating, just maintaining speed). Acceleration, where more fuel is dumped into the engine when you first start accelerating in order to help spin the engine up to higher RPMs quicker. Operation under load when extra fuel is delivered when "under load" (like going up hills). And last but not least, the choke, which provides a bit more fuel at startup to help the engine warm up.
This particular bike is carberated, the last of a dying breed. The problem inherent in the system is that the carbs just aren't as fine-tunable as one would like. The bike coughs and stutters slightly around 3,000 RPMs and it doesn't have as smooth a horsepower curve as you accelerate through the RPMS. Nice big performance Flatside Carbs fix this. Why? Um, it's even more technical and I don't quite follow it myself. I just know it works.
People have way too much time on their hands finding Animals on the Underground
Yes, yes.. so do I for even looking at the damn site.
the friday five
1. What was the last song you heard?
Echoes - Pink Floyd
2. What were the last two movies you saw?
Dawn of the Dead and Blood Simple
3. What were the last three things you purchased?
Kit Kat, Spinach & Garlic pasta, generic brand Cheetos (Chez Doodles)
4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?
to do? Come on. No one has
to do anything
5. Who are the last five people you talked to?
What's the point in that?
When done with this paper, I think I will print up a FOURTH copy (three are required by my dept.), cut a nice round hole in the middle of it, perhaps lubricate it somewhat, and rape it. For retribution . . . ya know? As it has raped me for the last 7 weeks.
It's due tommorow. I just finished the references, of which there are far to many for anyone to ever check the veracity of. Meaning that with so many, I could have just left like half out, and nobody would ever check. Only one I couldn't actually find, so it's just a missing link. a 404 error, if you will. I'd actually be happy if my reviewers caught it. Renew my faith in science. I don't have the energy now, but I will eventually talk about what this experience has taught me.
This is the lesson I have learned thus far in life: Fear not. There's a great Jewish saying that has been reverberating in my brain the last few months. The whole world's a narrow bridge, the thing is not to fear at all.
My advisor and I just went over my results. There's no way I could have written my paper without the explanation she just gave me. Why did I not ask her about this before? Fear.
That's what the helicopter game is truly about. That's what Texas hold 'em is about. Fear. And about learning to not fear.
BTW, 3077, motherfucker. A full 1/5 on my last high score. You're such a dickweed. I considered photoshopping it at one point, but I thought to myself, only TRULY SPINELESS BASTARD PEOPLE would do that. The kind of people that would have sex with your little sister. Oh, what?
Last night I played helicopter
. It's a dumb little flash game that I've mentioned before.
Unfortunately, all of my friends suffer from obessesive compulsive disorder and therefore, upon learning of this game helicopter
, they all became bent on ruling the world.. or at least getting the high score.
The game was originally presented on someone's weblog with a statement citing their best score of 2148. At the time it was a big number. It's not the easiest game - it's sort of mindnumbing - but after some time playing the game you come to realize that 2148 is certainly a doable number.. with patience.
Anyhow, as I played last night I thought about my poor friend Alex. Alex is a graduate student who is currently in the process of writing a master's thesis. He is also my ex-suitemate from my freshman year in college and I am aware of his serious video-gaming problems. That is to say he is among those that I have stated above: he is OCD.
I know worse. I know a guy who will call someone 20, 30, 40 times in one day if he wants to get in touch and they aren't answering their phone.. even when he knows they have caller ID. He is, shall we say, a tad crazy. Alex pales in comparison..
But even Alex could not fight off the compulsion that is helicopter
. When it was first posted to our friendly mailinglist under the subject:
fun fun fun
Alex was soon to reply with:
yeah, motherfucker. unless you feel that you absolutely must break that guys record of 2148, only to miss by a mere 96 points. one and one half hour all told. shitballs.
Another frustrated friend Tom, to many chuckles, wrote:
In an extremely covert, and very slooooow helicopter mission over a Greenland, pilot Thomas Scanlon merged with the infinite this afternoon at a distance of 2052 arbitrary units. With the end of his mission in sight, a vile and unprovoked green enemy floating somewhat paradoxically in mid-air struck with such a surreptitious force that although crashing sounds could be heard, and it was obvious that the pilot's life had ended during a brief respite for both gravity and space-time, no contact between plane and floating green rectangle could be detected. Amazingly, the helicopter became instantly immobile although suffering no damage to its outer shell. Officials from Air Force intelligence remain hopeful that information regarding the enemy weaponry could be ascertained from the glowing red energy field deployed in the instant following the collision.
An accomplished pilot, Thomas had about a half an hour of experience with this aircraft. Friends rumored that in recent minutes he thought of giving up
helicopter piloting all together, saying, "this game sucks, but it beats work". In the end, it was his cocky attitude that led him to such daring stunts over enemy territory. In a qwerky twist of fate an unidentified source claimed that just minutes before the incident he was heard saying, "I'm going to beat that freekin' high score if it kills me". In the final transmission heard by ground control Thomas intimated that he, "regretted not sending more emails to his friends in recent months" and "would surely change my ways if only I had the chance". A brave hero, he will be sorely missed.
A brave rescue mission was assigned to Brian:
A Canadian rescue helicopter failed to reach the crash site of a US Air Force helicopter this evening, when it collided with a floating green enemy some three hundred arbitrary units before the believed site of the US crash.
The Canadian helicopter was sent out to search for any survivors of the bizarre crash, which occured earlier this afternoon, and to locate and retrieve the American helicopter's black box, which the US Air Force hopes will contain information that would help officials unravel the mysteries surrounding this unusual incident. That the Canadian effort met with a fate almost identical to that of the US pilot Thomas Scanlon is a source of considerable consternation to officials of both nations, who are working together to investigate the precise nature of these green bogeys, and their relationship, if any, to Greenland military, which has traditionally been a close ally of the United States. A Greenland military official offered his condolences to the families and countries of the fallen pilots, but refused to comment on the green shapes which caused their deaths.
Although several countries offered their support for the rescue operation, it was decided that the Canadian pilot Brian Gabor would fly the mission due to his extensive (if not excessive) familiarity with the terrain and the operation of the rescue aircraft. Gabor had previously penetrated Greenland to an unofficial distance of over 2300 arbitrary units, but was unable to repeat that feat on this occasion. Luckily he has an infinite number of lives, and vows to sacrifice as many of them as are necessary to bring his mission to a successful conclusion.
A memorial service for the fallen incarnation of Brian will be held at his house this evening, where his current incarnation and several of his friends will undertake to tie one on in his memory, while not, of course, neglecting to pour one on the curbside for the homies.
Brian soon followed this up with:
Just minutes after one of his previous incarnations came within three hundred arbitrary units of the site where US helicopter pilot Thomas Scanlon went down over Greenland, a newer, better Brian Gabor managed to reach the site. Finding absolutely no evidence of a crash, Gabor continued his search to the incredible distance of 2210 arbitrary units, at which point his fuel ran out and he crashed ignominiously into the Greenland tundra.
Military officials are puzzled by the missing remains of the US aircraft. No traces were found of the glowing red energy field which US satellite sources had detected at the moment of the crash.
Sick of writing press releases, however, Canadian military officials have refused to provide any more information on the subject, and say the case is closed. Critics charge that this silence hints at an epic cover-up, but naturally they are powerless to do anything about it.
Further discussion was added later by Lisa:
okay. helicopter game must go. it is giving me the jimmy legs and arms. i actually have the shakes. and get all nervous. and all for a personal best score of a pitiful 1400+. damn!
Well, let's just face the facts. Women just were not built, evolutionarily speaking, for repetitive finger clicking and wrist pivoting - aka video gaming. Extensive research has shown that, despite the larger "funbags" females often exhibit hanging from their chestable areas, they are in fact not set up for the protective role that males play in the societal makeup of the homosapien. Males, however, have developed a number of unique characteristics over the years to aid in their protective nature towards the females of the species. For one, they have developed special "pouches" on their foresides on which to set the weapon of choice - preferrably a 4 to 6 button "Joy"stick, or gamepad. Also, they have developed lightening fast reflexes to ward off the excess of rabid turtles, ninjas, fighter jets, and football men that tend to infest the boxes kept in many homosapien living areas. In many tribes the male's ability to protect his female from these dangers is a matter of social status and competitions are often held. It is also not unheard of for a male to wrestle the beast zapper away from a female and ward her away from the box in which the beasts live, for her protection, of course. All is not violent, however, as the males of a tribe can sometimes be seen huddled around the beast box observing the creatures and discussing the relative merits of the different beasts and how best to go about dealing with them.
And finally Alex put the period on the end of the sentence, so to speak, with this message:
Peace, none the less. 2516. I need no longer prove anything to any of you, or to anyone else, regarding anything related to helicopters. Though perhaps this score is braggable, my message is not intended as such. I simply relay the message that peace is in your reach, perhaps aided in part by a pair of rotating blades.
namaste (i bow to the divine in you),
Anyhow.. back to my original point. Last night I was, once again, playing this retched helicopter game. It was a brief outting simply to pass a few minutes while I waited for my food to be ready so I didn't do much in the score department. I did, however, have an idea.
I whipped out MS Paint and took a screen capture of the game. I played a few times in order to get a few screen captures with various scores. You can guess where this is going.. I spliced together a score of over 4500 and placed it in the original screen capture under "best score". I sent it to Alex.
Some might call me wicked. Some might call me evil.. but what more does Alex need in his time of thesis writing than a good diversion? Like, say, a diversion that will keep him up all night pulling his hair out in an attempt to do the undoable.. beat my non-existent score. Ha. Muhaha. Hahahaa. Okay. So I am evil.
Alex responded to my screenshot with the following:
I hope you die. You just got lucky, because the only time that I ever crash is when it's impossible to get through. Bitch.
I'm not sure if I set the hook well though I feel the fish tugging at the worm so I wrote him back:
I think it's clear what is impossible here Alex.
You EVER being cool.
unless you beat my score.
(I've included a link directly to the helicopter game so you can
attempt to regain some of your manhood:
Hopefully he'll bite..
There comes a time in every person's life when things just don't fall quite as naturally into place as the seem to normally do. A time when life itself is a chore to complete or an errand to run and nary a second goes by without the loud tick tock
of the clock in one's ear - reminding one that the seconds are precious little devils waning away - even at this very moment.
Time's an evil master and so, to, is writer's block and every blogger will experience the block at one time or another
. In fact many bloggers may find this block so large, so cumbersome, so overwhelming that they drop everything right there and then - as evidenced by the occasional carcass of a website you may stumble across during your travels through this desert wasteland they call the internet.
Everything is like nothing is like something. It's a good motto to remember, a mantra to repeat, and maybe just maybe out of nothing springs something - eternal life or hope or at least a good story.. a good anecdote? Something. Anything. Everything.
Life ain't easy and so, writing being a part of it, well; isn't easy either. It's the nature of the beast. The best you can do is power through or just plain ignore it. Hard to ignore it when you have a deadline and it's awful hard to power through it when you just have no motivation or need to produce.. so apply it where it fits and do your best.
But don't walk away because then we've all lost.
Here is a little itty-bitty, albeit perhaps very scary, fact:
The internet is a public place. Strangers are reading your blog
. People who do not know you and people you will never meet. People that are more varied than you could possibly imagine and they are thinking some damn strange things about what you write. You have no idea. They're reading your shit and seeing in it something you never thought was even there and maybe they're jerking off to it or crying themselves to sleep or maybe they just think you're a sucker for being you but anyway you look at it they are out there: searching. for you.
And because they are out there - and because there are pack rats who create things like the library of congress - well, you're shit is going to be around very an awfully long time. Longer than you might think possible. Don't believe me?
check it out
check the first one out. That's this blog. Two years ago. Exactly as it was... like a fossil preserved through time beneath piles of rubbish and dirt and debris and now, here in front of you, you can see it for what it was. more rubbish, but that isn't the point.
Someday scientists will research us like an extinct society. Someday we'll be talked about as a bygone culture. Someday, we'll be gone
So make it last. Check that second link out. It's MTV. 1997 MTV. That's old shit. Check the last one. Yahoo! in 1996. Crazzzzy.
See, when we're gone our information will still be here. Our shit will continue to stink up this planet for some time to come and your great great grandkids.. they're all going to be laughing at your stuff.
It's gold, baby. Gold.
Brighter than any crinkly old letter falling apart in your hands that you found in the attic while you were looking for some of grandma's old clothes.
Sure, digital is cheap but that's what we are: bright, cheap, out of control. And all available for the world to see...
So this writer's block you speak of? This inability to write? Whatever. Get over it
. Move on. It's over and no one cares. It's so 2003 it hurts. Writer's block is for writers and you're not a writer your a blogger so get your ass on the keyboard and
..Goes the old drinking song at McGill but it applies here as well. No excuses
. If you're reading this you're probably in front of a keyboard so whip it out and make it your bitch and post something good and exciting to write about. I ain't stopping you. Newt ain't stopping you. Bush ain't stopping you and the whole goddamn world surely ain't stopping you so what's your excuse?
well that's lame.
suck an egg.
If you go here
soon enough you'll see some peak temperatures this last week close to 50F degrees.. That's warm enough to be outside, and.. even better.. warm enough to be on a motorcycle.
Unfortunately, you will also notice at that site the big blue nasty that hovers on the radar map. It spells S-N-O-W and that is exactly what is falling on us here in Maine after a week of near-50Fdeg weather.
Oh the gods most certainly hate me. Woe.
50F is certainly warm enough to be riding one's motorcycle but other factors - sand and dirt on the road and melting ice - stop me from jumping the gun. It is only March, afterall, and in Maine that means more snow. Heck, April and even May sometimes means more snow here. It's all part of the package.
Needless to say I am chomping at the bit. I must find myself atop the rumbly beast soon or I may pull my hair out.
Cabin fever is an unfortunate emotion.
and it makes me chew my nails.
I know I usually say that you should stay off the politics when writing on the blog.. unless you're one of those people that write a completely political-based blog and/or you don't want anyone reading your site at all... at least not a real human being anyway. Thing with the political blogs is it's easy enough to trump up a big audience because you either infuriate people - so they want to read what you write so they can foam at the mouth and complain about you - or - they agree with you and want to read what you have to say so they can agree with you and then go to their own blog and agree with you some more. See?
Anyhow, that's why I try to avoid the politics.. but this
from Moxie is good so I'll link it.. but in order to preserve my relatively unpolitical blog I won't talk about it at all. I'm just saying I'm much in line with the Mox when it comes to this sort of shit. Oh wait.. i just talked about it, didn't I?
Oh wonderful elixir of life, you are vindicated - you are, in fact, healthy!
From the BBC: Coffee can be good for you - she says - and the stronger, the better
After my rant about trackbacks and what a useless technological marvel they are I started thinking a little bit more about it. (Yeah, I know.. smart move doing the thinking after
the fact).. Anyhow, I was thinking these trackbacks suck so
much that I haven't actually ever seen one. Not in the wild anyway. I did catch a glimpse of one in captivity when I was reading an article on trackbacks... which had a trackback. But it was a sort of "Hey, look at me, I'm a trackback to a story about trackbacking.. to show you what a trackback is" trackback. So you see? It wasn't real.
So tonight I went out looking for one. Shhhh. I'm huntin' trackbacks. I started out at lickmagazine.com, moved over to tonypierce.com.. then onto rampantintellectualism.blogspot.com. After that I checked a few others but I couldn't find a single live trackback.
Then I checked my own site.
None here either.
So my challenge to all you happy christians out there is to warm up your easter egg hunting skills and rush out into the internet and find me a real actual trackback.. in the wild.. one you didn't create or take part in and one that is not being used as an example of a trackback or otherwise involved in linking stories or posts that are in any way related to trackbacks. I promise this won't be gory and I won't gorge you of $125 million in the first weekend. I promise! Whoever finds the most and posts them in the comments by midnight Friday wins a prize.. to be awarded by me.. no purchase necessary. Void where prohibited. etc. etc. Feel free to post them as you find them.. no need to wait and post the whole list.
Prize suggestions are welcome but I imagine I'll impress you more with my personal prize picking skillz, anyway. They are L33T.
My father tells this joke approximately 45 to 55 times a year. It never gets old:
So you know what the best thing about Alzheimer's is?
You get to hide your own Easter Eggs.
Does anyone actually trackback? Does anyone know what it's about? Does anyone care?
I'm no schlep myself, I work with computers, I hobby with computers, and I generally catch on to new ideas like trackback pretty quickly. Not like my father who has trouble grasping the idea of a website versus a ftp site and my mom who didn't realize her yahoo mail interface was in fact on the www.
But for some reason I had trouble with trackback. When I first started seeing the links out there I found a few references here and there but the majority of the situation is a lot of Trackback (0)
at the end of people's posts. The important part here being the big fat zero at the end of it. Zero trackbacks. Trackbacks, unfortunately, are like a big fat black hole. Trackblacks they should call it. No one uses 'em.
There is certain technology that makes things easier to use. There is certain technology that makes things more fun and more effective to use. Some technology enhances things and adds new features.
But if those features aren't features people want to use then it's wasted effort. Or if those features are hard to use - harder than they are worth - then no one will use them.
Not every idea that takes off like wildfire is a good idea. Take HTML Frames for an example. People snapped that idea up like kids at a candy store and we're still suffering the consequences years later. Not every idea that doesn't take off is a bad idea either. Remember those car-pooling companies where you joined up and could thereafter take a car from one of the various depos, use it, and return it to any depo.. I heard about trial programs in a few cities a number of years ago but I haven't heard squat since. I guess I'm trying to qualify it as a good idea but that's an opinion thing.. still, it hasn't taken off.
Audioblogs, also, haven't really taken off. I don't think they are a bad
idea but I think they fall under the umbrella of "features people don't want". People don't want to talk online. They don't want random strangers listening to them. It's creepy. It's too real. Up to this point people have been happy to write and write and write - and even post pictures.. for millions of strangers to see. But it's impersonal. It's cold and bare. Text and photographs do not a warm personal experience make. Thus the blog. The power and ease and acceptance
of the blog. Anyone can feel comfortable posting their daily routines up on the web..
But speak it? Whoa. Slow down. Back the bus up.
has a number of audblog posts from friendly blogging types - even fairly famous ones - and I think the overwhelming feature of all of them is that they sound shy and unsure. Not the people, but the particular posts. There is something about speaking out loud that makes us realize the stupidity in posts like:
so I had coffee today. a lot. like, 10 cups. whoa I'm jittery
Pointless? Maybe not. But certainly a little mundane.
People aren't quite ready to be that personal on the web. Sure, there are the standouts. People with internet radio shows. Camgirls. Etc. etc.. but they're all under a format. With radio show - however pointless - you have a reason for broadcasting.. and the listener has a reason for tuning in. "I was listening to the show". An audblog.. an audio post.. it's this floating unattached personal blurb about how tired you feel and can't wait to get off work.. it's too much. Camgirls, too, put on a bit of a show.. and I think it starts with one-on-one situations most of the time (that's a guess.. I can't really speak to the experiences of most camgirls) and they get more and more comfortable with it as time progresses to the point where many people may be watching their cam at once.
I think trackbacks fall somewhere between these realms. A little too much work to reference. A little too much effort to actually use.. And maybe not something people care about too much.
A trackback is really just a reverse bibliography.. so why would I want to go backwards? If I'm at the source
then why would I go up the chain to more and more diluted and abstracted references or versions of what I'm already looking at?
That's why linking to other people's posts that you reference works. It's the trackforward. It's the real deal. The normal bibliography.. which is something people want to see. They want to be able to drill down to the source. Get to the bottom of things. It's a more natural way of looking at information.
Will trackbacks ever really take off? I don't know but I'm hanging between "no" and "not for a very long time".. It just looks to be the way things are.
But I'll let you know the first time I use one .. and the first time I get a trackback in one of my posts.